


Prince Fucking Charming

by ianmickeyaf



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bodyguard Mickey, Modern Royalty, Prince Ian, dumb fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianmickeyaf/pseuds/ianmickeyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is this a relationship?” Ian asked, mostly to Mickey’s neck.</p><p>Oh. Of all the times to have a relationship talk, His Royal Fucking Highness thought they should hash it out right now? Jesus. Mickey thought stupidly that he should have asked for the doctor and also a shit ton of Vicodin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prince Fucking Charming

The first time he opened his eyes, everything was fuzzy and too bright. He could only think about two things. His leg was being cut off, and Ian. Ian and the searing pain in his leg. Ian, Ian, Ian.

_He hates hospitals. I want him moved back to the palace as soon as possible._

_As soon as he’s stable enough to move, Your Highness._

Ian.  
_____  
The next time he woke, he could feel that his leg was not cut off, it was attached and it hurt like hell. Because of the gun. Ian. Ian? His eyes opened and he blinked, the edges of his vision still blurry. But Ian was here. Ian was sitting in a chair next to a big bed that wasn’t a hospital bed. And Ian looked like shit and he was so beautiful and he was wearing a gray tee shirt with sweatpants.

“Sweatpants” Mickey said, smiling at Ian as he fell back asleep.

_____  
When he opened his eyes again, everything seemed a little clearer. Ian, fingers tangled loosely in Mickey’s, sleeping in the chair next to the bed, still dressed more casually than Mickey had ever seen. The soft lighting in the room that, yes, was clearly in the palace, even if he still couldn’t ever remember being in it before. And the pain, the pain was clearer, more sharp than before, and fuck did his leg hurt.

He must have moaned out loud, because Ian stirred awake. 

“Hey,” he said softly, running his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand, “Are you hurting? Do you want me to call for the doctor?”

He started to stand and Mickey felt panicked.

“No, no. Wait. Just,” his throat was dry and his voice was raspy.

“Wait,” he finished.

“Okay,” Ian agreed, continuing the soft movement of his thumb, “Can I get you some water at least? Just around the corner. I’ll leave the door open, okay?”

Mickey nodded. Ian squeezed his hand and bent to kiss his cheek gently. Part of him wanted to tell Ian to fuck off and quit treating him like he was dying, but shit, maybe he was dying. Maybe that’s why he was at the palace and not the hospital? Besides, he didn’t know who was around, and telling His Royal Highness Prince Ian Clayton Gallagher to fuck off was a great way to get fired, if he wasn’t already. Fuck. Was he going to get fired? 

Ian was back with the water then, and he sat next to Mickey on the bed and watched him take a few careful sips.

“Better?” Ian asked.

“Feel like a million bucks, Prince Charming,” Mickey smirked.

Ian didn’t laugh at the joke, or even sigh at the use of the nickname he hated.

Mickey tried again.

“You okay? Everyone good? Did they arrest the brothers?” he had a million questions. He felt like he’s been sleeping for years.

“Yes, everyone is fine, the arrest went off without a hitch, everything went perfectly except…” 

Mickey wasn’t sure if Ian was going to continue, but he was glad to know he’d sustained the worst of the damage in this whole mess.

“You got shot, Mickey,” Ian said, quiet again.

“I fucking know I got shot! 

Ian seemed startled by Mickey’s outburst and his face fell.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Mickey, I tried to get around you, but you wouldn’t fucking move and I didn’t have a gun and nothing was going the way we planned-”

“It was a stupid fucking plan, Ian. I should have never sent you out there.”

“It wasn’t stupid, it was a good plan, Mick! I just fucked it up! I got nervous when I saw you and I think they could tell, and I’m a soldier, not an actor, and I just fucked it all up and you got _because of me_!” Ian practically wailed the last few words.

Ian leaned forward and buried his face in his lap.

Mickey reached over and stroked down his back the best he could without moving his leg too much. 

“Hey, alright, it’s alright. It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is.”

The words were mumbled, and Mickey smiled in spite of himself. 

“Ian, you did everything right. I’m the one that came rushing in too soon because I panicked. I panicked. We lost you on the radar and I lost my mind and came in too soon. I shouldn’t have sent you in there. Not alone. Not with those assholes. What the fuck was I thinking?” 

What was he thinking? Sending Ian into the open with no weapon, alone, as bait? Why had he agreed to that? Why had Kev and Malik and Svetlana gone along with it? They were the best of the best, which is why Fiona had brought them in, and that was their best idea? They were supposed to protect the Gallaghers, not devise plans to send them into the arms of the terrorists trying to hurt them.

Ian’s head jerked up at the sound of Mickey questioning the mission.

“What were you thinking? You were thinking that I’m a soldier, Mickey. I spent eight years in the Navy.” His expression was fiery. “You were thinking that we couldn’t just sit around and wait for something to happen to Liam, or Carl, or Debbie. We had solid intel. You were thinking we had to go on the offensive. At least that was the plan.” Mickey watched the fire leave his face as quickly as it had ignited. “Until I got you shot.”

Mickey sighed. He reached out his left arm. 

“Would you come here?”

Ian gave him a pitiful look.

“Christ, I’m already so sick of this conversation. You feel like shit, I feel like shit, we both think it was our fault, great, fine, whatever. I’m the one with a fucking bullet in my leg and you won’t even come over here.”

Ian sighed as he conceded and shuffled his body over to Mickey. Ian pressed himself to Mickey’s uninjured side, and buried his face in Mickey’s neck. Mickey could feel the smile spread across Ian’s face.

“You don’t have a bullet in your leg, so there’s no need to be quite so dramatic. It was a clean shot.”

Mickey laughed.

“Yeah, I’ll leave the dramatics in this relationship to you.” He pressed a kiss into the top of Ian’s head and realized Ian had gone very still.

“Ian?”

“Is this a relationship?” Ian asked, mostly to Mickey’s neck.

Oh. Of all the times to have a relationship talk, His Royal Fucking Highness thought they should hash it out right now? Jesus. Mickey thought stupidly that he should have asked for the doctor and also a shit ton of Vicodin.

“Yeah. I mean, I guess. If that’s what you-”

He didn’t get to finish his thought before Ian’s mouth was on his, warm and insistent. They’d been doing this thing for months and Mickey couldn’t remember kissing Ian like this. They’d kissed, sure, but it was always hot and burning and biting and meant sex, or at least the potential for sex. But this. This was steady and slow and _warm_ and why weren’t they always doing this? Mickey kept thinking Ian would pull away but he didn’t. He eventually pulled back just enough to whisper against Mickey’s lips.

“Is this okay?”

Mickey almost laughed, the question seemed so strange. Okay? He was definitely okay. Ian must have noticed Mickey’s confusion, because he glanced down.

“Your leg,” Ian reminded him.

Oh. His leg. He’d forgotten he even had legs, or any body parts other than lips and a tongue. Instead of answering, he just closed his eyes and pulled Ian back in for more. Ian was safe and Ian was here and Ian tasted so good and Ian was everything. 

“So glad you’re okay.” Mickey thought Ian was saying it to him, but maybe he was saying it to Ian. Either way, he was so, so glad.

When Ian finally pulled away, Mickey groaned.

Ian laughed. “Needy,” he said.

“Yeah, so where the hell are you going?” he whined.

Mickey was not blind to the fact that Ian was inching away. His lips still tingled and his body was mourning the loss. The pain in his leg came back to the center of his brain. He winced.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mick, I swear. But the doctor is going to look at you now. I know your leg hurts, it’s been four hours since you’ve had anything for it.”

Mickey was struck then, like he was sometimes, at how commanding Ian could be. It was easy, when they were alone, to forget his pedigree, his upbringing. And then Ian would just decree something and it rarely occurred to Mickey to argue. Especially when Ian was right. Which he usually was. Not that Mickey would tell him that, he was already bossy enough. But yeah, maybe his leg was starting to bother him more. He closed his eyes as the doctor came in and started to poke and prod.

 

_____

 

When he woke up again, his eyes fell to the side, searching for Ian. He wasn’t in the bed, or in the chair beside the bed. He sat up a little and found him, pacing at the foot of the bed. Ian noticed the movement.

“Hey, you’re awake!” he said brightly.

Ian brought him a glass of water and smiled at him while he drank. Mickey handed it back after a few sips. Ian sat the glass down and ran a hand through Mickey’s hair.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Okay,” Mickey replied. “My head hurts from sleeping so much.”

“Should I get the doctor?”

“Nah, I’m alright for now.”

Mickey watched as Ian returned to his paces at the foot of the bed. He was back in his dark slacks and perfectly pressed button-up. Mickey wondered when he had changed. He missed the sweats already. 

“How are you feeling?” Mickey finally asked him.

“Me? I’m fine!” Ian answered too quickly, smile a little too bright.

“You’re being weird. What’s wrong?” Mickey asked.

“Nothing is wrong!” Ian insisted.

Mickey sighed loudly.

“Look, I can’t get up and chase after you, so can you cut the bullshit and tell me what’s going on? Can you _sit down_ and tell me?” he added.

Ian let out a loud sigh of his own and sat in the chair beside Mickey. Mickey wanted him on the bed, but it was at least better than the pacing.

Mickey watched as Ian ran a hand through his hair. He seemed nervous, but he looked straight at Mickey as he spoke.

“I was thinking, while you slept. The whole reason you’re here doesn’t exist anymore. The threat has been removed. They got them all after they extracted us. We don’t need special ops security anymore. We’re just the regular royal family with regular royal guards and no constant threat of kidnapping and assassination looming. Well, no more than usual,” he laughed, but it was bitter.

“You’ll have other jobs, more pressing international crises. This is just your job, and you have no reason to stay anymore. And you say we’re together, but how can we be together if you can’t stay and I can’t go. Because you know that, don’t you? You understand that I can never go? This is my home, and it’s not just a job, it’s my duty, my family.”

Mickey was trying to take in everything he had said, but he was mostly stuck on one point.

“Why can’t I stay?” he asked.

Ian stared, “What?”

Mickey used his hands to adjust his body so he was sitting up more. 

“Why can’t I stay?” he repeated. “You said yourself it’s just a job. So I’ll get another job. I do know that you can’t leave. I wouldn’t ask you to leave, Ian. But I can stay. If you want me to.”

Ian just continued to stare and it crossed Mickey’s mind that he had never seen Ian look so ruffled. So he pushed further.

“Besides, I don’t know what makes you think you don’t need full-time round-the-clock special ops security, since your only actual job appears to be getting in trouble and being a royal pain in my ass.”

Ian laughed as he surged up out of the chair to kiss Mickey.

“You. Are. Ridiculous.” he huffed out in between laughter and kisses.

“I’m ridiculous?! You just tried to break up with me and banish me from your kingdom while I’m laid up in your bed with a wound I sustained when I jumped in front of a bullet for you!”

Ian at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself as he crawled on the bed.

“I tried to push you out of the way, wish it would have been me.” he offered.

“No way,” Mickey nuzzled his face into Ian’s cheek. “Would’ve done it even if it wasn’t my job.”

Ian swallowed hard.

“Mick…” he pulled him closer and Mickey let himself relax.

“‘A royal pain in your ass’ though? How long have you been sitting on that? Ian laughed, low and quiet.

“How long have I known you? That long?” Mickey smirked and Ian laughed some more.

 

They stayed wrapped up in each other for a few minutes until Ian sighed again.

“What is it now?”

“I can’t just date you.”

Mickey pulled himself away from the warmth of Ian’s chest.

“What the fuck are you talking about now?”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand and began to trace patterns on his palm as he kept talking. 

“I mean. We can be together. But I can’t just date you forever. I’m a prince, Mickey. Third in line to the throne. I have to get married.”

Mickey froze. No fucking way. No way he just told Prince fucking Ian fucking Gallagher that he would give up his career and stay with him like a little bitch, like a fucking housewife, just to be informed he was going to live his life as a fucking mistress. No.

“No.”

He wasn’t looking at Ian, but he could practically feel his face fall. Is that what it’s like to be royalty, he wondered? You feel real disappointment when people tell you they won’t sit around waiting to suck your dick while you're out parading around your wife?

Mickey hadn’t realized his thoughts were forming into words until Ian laughed. He actually had the nerve to laugh at him.

“Fuck you, Ian,” he hissed.

He tried to shove Ian off the bed, but his injured leg threw off his equilibrium and Ian barely budged. Ian laughed harder.

Mickey was seeing red when Ian finally grabbed his face with both hands, and kissed him square on the lips.

“You, you dumbass! I want to marry you!”

Mickey’s face, heated from his anger, was quickly turning to an embarrassed flush.

“Oh,” he said.

For once, Ian didn’t push him, he just watched Mickey closely.

Finally Mickey asked, “Can you do that here? Marry a man, I mean?”

“Yes. Fucking Frank. He doesn’t actually give a shit about marriage equality, but he does love political pandering. It was a “cause” of his at some point,” Ian rolled his eyes.

Mickey considered all this.

“Okay,” Mickey said.

“Okay…? Okay what? Are you saying yes?” Ian tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but failed miserably. 

“Yeah, yes! okay!” Mickey said, finally smiling and relaxing into Ian again.

Ian pressed kiss after kiss onto his lips and chin and cheeks and Mickey closed his eyes, flushing under the attention.

“Going to make you so happy,” Ian whispered.

“Mmm, mmhm,” Mickey hummed in agreement, feeling tired again.

Suddenly his eyes flew open.  
“No tv.”

“What?” Ian asked.

“I don’t want it on tv. When we get married.”

“That’s fine,” Ian agreed easily.

“And does it have to be in a church?” Mickey sat up, suddenly overwhelmed. “Churches are worse than fucking hospitals.”

“No, no,” Ian laughed and patted at Mickey’s back. “We can do whatever we want Mick. Maybe here, in the North Garden.”

“Do we have to live here?! With everyone?!” 

“Nope. We can live at any of the estates. One of the smaller ones, whatever you want, okay?”

Mickey nodded carefully.

“So let me get this straight, you want to marry me, but you don’t want to be on tv, and you don’t want to have a big royal wedding and you don’t want to live in a massive castle? I feel like you’re doing this whole ‘marry a prince’ thing wrong.

Ian smiled at him again and continued, “We don’t have to get married tomorrow, Mick. I want you to actually _walk_ down the aisle.” 

Mickey elbowed him. 

“But we’ll do whatever you want okay?” Ian kissed him again. “Going to make you so happy.”

“You already do, Prince Charming,” Mickey said as he snuggled back into Ian’s side and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is messy and rushed but I don't hate it? Idk.
> 
> All mistakes are mine


End file.
